What happens next
by InaneAngel
Summary: A series of one-shots set in the Animorph universe after the final battle over time. (a day after, a week, ten years, ect.) First ever fic, please R&R. T cause i'm paranoid.
1. Fearless Leader

A Day

* * *

My parents were freed today. I should feel happy. Ecstatic, even. The war is over, the world was saved, and my parents were freed from the control of the yeerks. Mostly, I just feel numb. The press has surrounded our house, pushing and shoving to get a good view, a good camera angle, an interview. Their questions seem to press against the windows and slide under the door, searching for a way in.

"Jake, how does it feel to know you saved the world?" I don't know. "Will the animorphs continue to be friends, now that the war is over?" Another question I don't know the answer to. "Jake, do you have any plans for college?" College? I can barely think about what I'm going to do next _week_, let alone where I'll be going for college. "Jake, do you have a girlfriend?" maybe. I don't know. Probably not anymore. "Jake, how does it feel to have saved your family?" The question hits me like a bulldozer. I should have expected the question. Saved my family. It's the logical extension of what everyone knows about me. Jake, leader of the animorphs. Jake, who saved the world. Jake, who saved humanity.

Jake, who saved his family.

It seems _right_ to them, somehow. Closure to the story. The fearless leader-Jake, who saved the day. But my family wasn't saved in the final battle. Three of us went up in those ships. My brother, Tom, who I had killed. My cousin, Rachel, who I used like a hunting dog, like a loaded gun, like a weapon. And me. Who killed both of them, because I ran the numbers and did the math and was more ruthless, in that moment, then a hundred Marcos could ever dream of being.

"Jake, are you aware that a tee-shirt has been released with your face on it?" The questions pile up, unanswered, smothering me. They curl around my ankles and push against me, until I can barely breathe. I feel their accusing stares follow me around the room, until I can't take it anymore. In a frozen haze of guilt, I feel my body beginning to shrink as I take the only consolation left to me. I reach the window, and throw myself into the air. I fly away, and a thousand questing cameras on the ground below tilt up like sunflowers, recording my flight.


	2. Oldest Sister

A Week

* * *

The doorbell rings, again, for the tenth time in half as many minutes. I sigh, and drop my book. The news crews camped on our doorstep haven't moved since they first appeared, like mushrooms, only minutes after the victory on the pool ship was broadcasted. I think their all worried that if they leave to go bowling or take a piss or something, the other news-stations will crowd in, and by the time they get back the only memory of their camp will be a small dent under a pile of channel seven's camera ware.

Usually, they just take shots of the house and rattle of something they scripted about the "grieving family" or whatever, and it's possible to shut the blinds and ignore the reporters. It's dark, with all the blinds down, and the lack of natural light is kind of depressing. The lamps provide plenty of light, it's just a little gloomy without the sun. Sometimes it feels almost normal.

But every so often, a reporter will get bored and come lean on the doorbell, hoping for an interview. This one's unusually persistent. He's going to wake up Sarah, I know he is. Not twenty minutes after I finally managed to get her to sleep. I want to yell at him to leave, make all of them pack up their stupid cameras and their microphones and leave me and Mom and Sarah in peace, to let us pretend we're just a normal family, with no-one to know or care if their were ever three sisters in our house.

To pretend that it was only ever the three of us.

But yelling only encourages them, so I've been waiting here hoping this guy will give up and go away. _Ding! _Sigh. I'm lying on the couch, trying to get back into my book, when Mom wanders into the room. One look, and I can tell it's not good.

She's wrapped up in this big, old blanket that Rachel bought on sale at the mall when I was eleven. Under that, she's got a ratty old tee she got at some carnival, a pair of my dad's old gym shorts, and pale green hiking boots with no socks. And she's completely gone, off in her own little world. When Sarah and I figured out how badly the news hit Mom, we hid all the liquor in the cabinet under my bathroom sink. It didn't matter though. She just sort of... faded, like an old photograph. It's been a week since what happened, and during that time she's gone from bad to worse.

_Ding!_ Mom smiles vaguely at me, and turns to open the door. "No, Mom, Don't open it." She frowns at me, confused. "Why not? It's probably Cassie. She wanted to came over, didn't she? She wanted to spend some time with... your sister." That was months ago. Back when they were still trying to uphold their parody of normalcy. "No, Mom, it's not Cassie." A shadow crosses her face, and for a second she looks like she's going to cry. "It's probably... someone else." I say quickly. "She looks at me, and the expression on her face, searching for a signal that everything is okay, stabs a spike of guilt into my heart. "Look your just tired." I tell her, taking her hand. "Tired?" She asks, and she sounds so much like a child that I halfway expect her to refute my claim. "Yeah, sure." I say, trying to sound cheerful. "You were up late last night, um, lawyering." "Was I?" She asks. "How strange. I don't remember." "You need to sleep." I tell her, leading her towards the stairs.

_Ding!_

She glances back towards the door. "But shouldn't I-" "I'll get it." I tell her. "If it means that much to you." She nods, and with my help she shambles upstairs to sleep. I march to the door, and pause to take a breath before opening it. I don't know much about taking care of people. That was always Mom's job, or Rachel's. But Mom take care of us right now, and Rachel... Rachel is dead. I'm the oldest sister now.

So that means it's my job to take care of my family.

_ Ding!_

* * *

I wrench open the door, and walk out into the light.


End file.
